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Diary of Eirlys
Eirlys ex Merinita filia Drystan, Yule 1215 My parens has gifted me with a fine book, wherein to scribe my own thoughts. I suppose I shall begin by setting aside the first section of this tome to tell the tale of my life thusfar. One never knows when Twilight may claim the mind... or worse. Omnia interit, and all that is left are memories. Sometimes. It began in the forest, as most faerie tales do. My earliest memory is of playing within the frozen forest. I was frolicking in the water of the hot springs while Jerrod tried to wash my face and hair. I splashed him many times until he was drenched. His hair is made of icicles, and it amused me to see the roiling steam whenever the hot water touched his beard. "I don't know why I endure such indignities from you, child," he told me. "My loyalty is to your family, not you." I drew my eyes open wide, sulking. "But I want you to be mine, just mine," I answered. I couldn't bear the thought that he sometimes tended to my mother, hearing all the dreadful things she said about how dull and unimaginative I was. I still recall how tight-lipped his smile was. "Oh? What have you to offer?" I was at a loss for words; I'd never struck a Bargain before. "I wouldn't try to melt your beard anymore," I ventured carefully. He shook his head (and little snowflakes fell from his still-steaming beard). "That is not an equal exchange," he mused. "What about the colour of your eyes? You'd never miss them." How fortunate for me, I thought. "Your fealty and service, in exchange for the color of my eyes?" It was almost as though some ancient spirit spoke with my voice, as I found the correct words without thinking, just knowing them instinctively. "A reasonable trade. The Bargain--" I extended my hand, and he took it firmly in his, "--Is made." Mother was furious, of course. Though whether it was because I'd given away the colour of my eyes, or because I had secured Jerrod's loyalty to myself, I didn't know. In any case, her anger subsided enough that she took me to her glade, and performed a small ritual to give me a new eye colour. She even let me choose it myself. All in all, I think I came out far ahead in my first Bargain. Oh, I suppose I should describe the place I was born and raised. Perpetual Seasons is quite large, for being so secluded and underpopulated. At the center is a small grove with standing stones. The heart-grove is oddly mutable; it takes on its appearance based on the minds and hearts of those within it. The stronger the will, the more influence they have over the surroundings. It was always Spring when Gran was there. When Gran would leave my mother and myself there alone, though, the terrain would war between Winter and Summer. (Summer... Little wonder that Father can't stand her.) The stones never change, of course, beyond sometimes being dusted with frost, or pollen, or dew. There are two other things within the heart-grove which are unchanging... both are trees. The first is a young oak, which Gran transplanted there as a sapling. The tree grows strong and firm, though much smaller than the parent-tree. Gran used the sapling as an arcane connection to Goldenleaf (her heart-tree), and spent much time communing with him. There is one more tree in the heart-grove which never changes: a fruit tree, not unlike an apple tree where the leaves and blossoms are concerned, yet the fruits are quite unlike. On average, they are larger than apples, and the shape is a bit odd. The fruit's skin is a reddish orange, streaked with yellow; rather than the shiny smoothness of an apple, this fruit appears dull and... furry. The flesh of the fruit is white like an apple's, but very soft, and saturated with nectar. I cannot bite into one without them bursting forth and spilling juice everywhere! Gran says the tree was her wedding gift from my Grandfather, and that he had to travel a long way off to a remote region of Arcadia to find it-- a place where the sidhe have olive skin and almond-shaped eyes. He called the fruits "peaches" and I have not seen their like anywhere in either Faerie or the mundane world. For all the wondrous qualities of the fruit, however, this tree is very particular. Only the fruits which fall off at the touch can be taken; the tree will not relinquish any fruits that are underripe. One can only pick a fruit from its branches if they intend to eat the fruit then and there; if the fruit were carried away outside of the glade, the flesh would melt off, leaving only the wrinkled stone within. Also, whenever we finish eating one of the fruits, we must drop the stone beneath the branches, in a place where it would normally have fallen had we not eaten the fruit. Every, a single fruit falls from its branches which is the color of gold, thrice again as large as the others, and has none of the fur which covers the other fruits. Gran always kept those, but I do not know what she did with them-- only that I was never to touch them. I suspect those golden fruits may be vis (probably Herbam), but I am not certain. Gran never told me what would happen if I did not follow all these instructions, but I have never questioned her wisdom. The greatest significance of the Peach Tree, of course, is time-telling. In a place such as Perpetual Seasons, the passage of time is difficult to track. When the tree first begins to blossom, spring has arrived; when the first fruits form, it is the beginning of summer. The single golden fruit drops on Midsummer; the last of the regular fruits fall as summer becomes autumn. The tree sheds its leaves and trembles naked in the glade when winter claims the world outside. We are of the old faith, and use the tree's cycles to know when to observe the Sabbats. Ah, but the rest of the regio still remains to be described. To the north of the central glade is my favorite place: the Winter Forest. The spruce, redwood, and hemlock trees are a study in green and white, their verdant boughs draped in cloaks of snow. The edges of the winter forest have a few deciduous trees, whose skeletal limbs are crusted with ice. As I mentioned earlier, there is a hot spring within the North Forest... incongruously, the center of that spring is the hottest place in the entire regio. I spent most of my time in the Winter Forest, as the still silence of the glade suits me so well. The west is the Spring Glade. There are a few copses of birch, poplar, and ash, in addition to clusters of ever-blossoming fruit trees. Underneath a large boulder, there is a cold spring, which bubbles up from underneath the stone, and pools into a small stream that runs southeast into the Summer Land. The Glade always has crisp green grass underfoot, with clumps of jasmine and honeysuckle clustered about. Grandmother spent most of her time there, when she was not working in the heart-grove. It is the Autumn Harvest to the east. Old redwood, maple and oak trees stretch higher than the eye can follow. From a distance, it appears that the deciduous trees are aflame, but it is merely an illusion created as their leaves of red and gold shimmer in the breeze. There is a field of wheat which is always ready to be harvested; whatever is shorn from the field is regrown the next morning. To the south is the Summer Land. There are few trees, and they are quite odd. They have long trunks, and there are no branches on these trees except at the very top. The branches are not proper branches at all, but look like flat green fingers that fan out from central stems. Mother loves them, but I hate how unnatural and strange they are. Mother loves to nap on the streambed, between those "trees." I would not venture there at all, were it not for the wonderful fruits which grow there. Apples, pears, and abricots swell with sweet nectar to the point of bursting their skins. They are not so juicy, nor as sweet, as the Peach Tree... but these fruits grow year-round. It is an interesting tale, how the regio came to be in our control. It was ruled by an ancient faerie, powerful, yet vulnerable. Her tales had been all but forgotten by the human minds which had given her life and power; indeed, while I know her name, I cannot write it here, and you'll understand why when you hear how Gran came to be lord of our regio. Grandfather had helped to fake Gran's death, and while that shook the Flambeau that persued her, she still needed to find a secluded, safe place to live and work. Grandfather knew of the Seasons, and told her that if she could secure mastery of the regio, she and her line would be safe there. Gran was very thorough in her research of the faerie lord, but every book in which her name had been scribed, Gran struck the tales from every page. When Gran went to challenge the faerie for mastery of the regio, she brought with her only her staff, and a lock of hair. The lord introduced herself, and made appropriate threats. Gran then picked up the lock of hair. She said: "I am Esyllt ex Diedne. I hold in my hand an arcane connection to one of two human beings who remember your name. She still recalls the tales her grandfather told her about your exploits... how quaint. Perdo Mentem! Now you live in my imagination, alone." The faerie immediately recognized her predicament, and dropped to her knees, swearing fealty to my Gran. She told her the secrets of all the entries and exits to the regio, and gave her the key to the lordship in exchange for the promise that Gran would pass those all-but-lost tales down through her family line. Much more interesting story than how I secured my first loyalist, but then, Gran is the sort of maga that they write stories about. She was, anyway, before the Tremere struck them from all Hermetic records. I was eight years old when Father came for me. Until that time, I'd only known Perpetual Seasons. Mother and Gran tutored me, and Jerrod looked after me. The last time Gran took me on her travels, it was to her high grove with the white standing stones. She kissed me and said that my life would be better (better than what, I wonder?). It was that day on which she gave me the emerald necklace she'd been working with for the past few months, telling me that when the time came, I'd know what to do. She put me inside the circle and cast some magics... I don't remember what happened then, it was all very hazy, as though she'd used some Mentem effect to keep me from the knowledge of what transpired until she wished me to recall it. After I came out of the circle, I felt very disoriented and strange, but I couldn't say how or why. Come to think of it, I've always felt rather disoriented and awkward ever since then, as though I don't quite fit into my own skin. Sometimes I wonder why, but when I think on it too hard, then I become pained with a fierce headache. Even writing this causes a twinge of pain. Father arrived the next day. He and my mother exchanged some coldly civil words, and then she told me I'd be going away. I would still come back for tutoring now and then, but my primary residence would be in Arcadia itself. Father took me from the forest I'd known all my life, and brought me to the same forest... only, it wasn't quite the same. You know the way you see a reflection in a still pool of water, only it's less clear, less crisp, less real, than the true image? Entering Arcadia was like finally seeing the true image, when before I'd only known the reflection. It would have all been overwhelming, had Jerrod not been with me. It was then I learned how much I liked whisky. While the majority of what you'll find served at an Arcadian table is fae liquor, my father's connections are such that he could get its reflection from the mundane world. Truth be told, I like the mundane stuff better-- the taste is more layered and complex, and doens't befuddle the mind like the real stuff does. But enough of drinking. The purpose of this record is to document my life, for the eventuality that the twilight claim my mind. Or perhaps, in the end, it will be the drink. Before I came to Arcadia, I did not know many others. There was only Mother and Grandmother... of course there was also Jerrod and a few other servants, though only Jerrod ever spoke to me. Grandmother took me on some of her travels, but we never saw other people-- just trees and spirits. Sometimes Grandmother would touch my forehead, and then I could hear them speak. I received more nurturing from Goldenleaf, my Gran's giant heart-oak, than I ever did from my own mother. Mother was all business, tutoring me in Latin and the arts. Goldenleaf taught me to hear the words on the wind; she rocked me to sleep in her highest boughs when the storms frightened me. She comforted me when Jerrod was away on errands. I can still hear her voice as she sang me to sleep... "Huna blentyn yn fy mynwes, clyd a chynnes ydyw hon..." I love that tree, and I hope someday my travels will lead me to her again. I hope that she survived Gran's passing. I keep getting distracted by tangents. I shall endeavour to remain focused on the tale I have to tell. When Father brought me to Arcadia proper, my life changed drastically. I tasted freedom for the first time. Fae come and go freely; even the highest-ranking lords and ladies of the court would go off at various times to entertain themselves at various regiones, or even forests in the mundane world. If I wished to celebrate the winter solstice at the most remote frozen tundra, I did. The travel was always easy with Jerrod to guide me. It was in the land they call Scandinavia that I met my Lady, and came into Her service. I was so pleased to be raised from acolyte to priestess. I was thrilled to be trusted to serve my Lady in such a capacity. In the beginnings of my priesthood, there was not much room for else but fulfilling my lady's bidding. In the warm moons, I made preparations for her return, and during the cold moons I served as her handmaiden. Yet as I grew to fill my station, it seemed my duties shifted in focus, away from the Lady herself. I still perform the rites of the Sabbats, yet less of my time is spent with Cailleach Bheur herself. She personally requires less of my attention than those who seek to learn the old ways. And so it was that a man came to me, seeking knowledge of the Sabbats. He was so inquisitive and eager to learn. He stayed with us for many months, and I considered him my best student. He does not think the same of me. Ah, Drystan. What a strange and strained relationship we have. My apprenticeship with him was short, only twelve years... which worked out well for me, as unbeknownst to Drystan, I had been three years into apprenticeship with my grandmother before Final Twilight claimed her.